Saturday, April 30, 2016

St Patrick’s Day is fast approaching, the
largest and most popular event in Savannah, but for the members of Gordonston’s
dog walking club their priority is recruiting a glamorous new member and
defending their beloved park from encroachers and a rival dog walking
club.

Meanwhile, a hitman is headed to town with
orders to kill. But just who is his target?

For the last time we return to Gordonston, where
secrets are finally revealed, lies and untruths exposed, and once again, as the
plot thickens, the residents of Gordonston find themselves entangled in a web
of deeply hidden agendas, deception, and vengeance. Forget what you thought you
knew....nothing was ever what it seemed.

Filled with twists and turns, the Gordonston
Trilogy, a series of revenge, retribution and dog walking, that has gripped
readers worldwide comes to a fitting end. Prepare for the ultimate sucker punch
ending and a conclusion so shocking and unexpected, it will leave you
breathless.

EXTRACT

From his vantage point on the roof of the Union Bank
Building, he could see the parade turning onto Bay Street. The procession, led
by four officers of the Savannah Police Department motorcycle division, who
sped in front of the crawling parade, lights flashing and their sirens blaring,
was the signal to the excited crowd that the parade was approaching. The long
stream of floats, cars, marching bands and representatives of police,
firefighting departments, military units, schools and colleges; many dressed in
kilts of assorted tartans, led by bagpipers and drummers, was now only minutes
away. He could sense the crowd’s anticipation and excitement, and he had never
seen so much green in his entire life.

Both sides of the procession route were filled with
revelers; many dressed in green hats, green jackets, green t-shirts, or a
combination of all three. It was as if a sea of green had flooded the city
streets. Everyone, it seemed, dressed in the color associated with the Irish
and Ireland. He estimated that there must be over one hundred thousand people
on this part of the parade route alone, and his estimation was probably low.

He had read that Savannah’s celebration was
the second largest Saint Patrick’s Day gathering in the United States,
something he had found to be odd considering that the city itself had no real
Irish feel about it. From what he had seen and heard so far, the event reminded
of him Mardi Gras in New Orleans, an excuse for a party, and, of course, a
drink and a reason to get drunk. He had also read that the festivities lasted
several days, with Irish themed celebrations and events dominating the historic
city for a week. The parade itself would be shown live on local television channels.
Many of the visitors and parade watchers would have arrived a few days before
the actual procession, drinking, partying, and enjoying life and all things
Irish well into the early hours.

Reaching into his duffel bag, he retrieved a pair of
binoculars. Through them, he could now clearly see the procession approaching.
The open-topped car, which he could see was a Mustang, carried the mayor and
his wife. It would be the third car in line that would be heading the parade.
The car following the mayor’s vehicle would be that of the city’s police chief.
Again, that would be an opened topped vehicle, and the car behind his would
carry the previous chief of police who had retired last year.

Apart from the officers on motorcycles, who now ensured that
the road ahead was clear of encroaching spectators, the parade was led by the
St. Patrick’s Day Grand Marshall. He would walk the route on foot, followed
closely by the preceding year’s marshal.

He had accessed the roof of the unoccupied bank building
three hours previously. As he had been told it would be, the door was unlocked
and the building deserted. It was the perfect position; if his only reason to
be in Savannah that day were to just watch the parade, he would have had the
best seat in the house. No one had seen him enter the building and he was more
than confident he could not be spotted from the streets below, or from any of
the other buildings that lined the route along Bay Street.

Numerous food trucks and stalls had invaded Savannah to
cater to the million or so people who would witness the parade. The smell of
barbecued pork, deep-fried turkey legs, and other fast food filled the air,
causing a rumbling in his stomach. However, he did not allow his hunger to
distract him.

After placing the binoculars on the ground, he raised his
rifle to his shoulder and lay prone on the building’s roof. He adjusted the
telescopic sight of his weapon and scanned the crowd; he focused his sights on
an attractive girl, dressed in shorts and a tight green tee shirt and wearing a
collection of green beads around her neck. She was cheering and was obviously
enjoying herself. His gaze lingered on her before he shifted the weapon and set
his sights on the third vehicle, which was now within shooting range of his
high-powered .308 sniper rifle, fitted with an ACC sound suppressor.

He could see that his target was smiling and waving at the
excited crowds that lined both sides of the sidewalk. He did not feel any
sadness, remorse, or pity for his victim. It was purely business and nothing
personal.

The driver of the mayor’s car, probably a local government
employee or an eager volunteer, remained focused on his task, ensuring that the
car did not exceed ten miles per hour. He did not appear to be distracted by
the crowd, which was a good thing. The last thing he needed was the driver, once
the shot had been fired, to careen into the sidewalk and innocent bystanders.
He had one target only, no one else needed to die today.

The target was now in perfect range. He could press the
trigger at any time, confident that the bullet would enter his victim’s
forehead, resulting in immediate death. He once again shifted the weapon, this
time his sights trained on the mayor’s wife. She was attractive, there was no
disputing it. Stunning even, and she seemed to be reveling in the attention she
was receiving. Like her husband, she was smiling and waving to the crowd, as
well as dispensing green beads from a bag placed in her lap. The crowd seemed
desperate to catch the cheap plastic trinkets.

He moved his weapon again, this time his sights trained on the
chief of police. He looked odd in his uniform, out of place. He appeared to be
uncomfortable being in the spotlight, as if the whole parade was an enormous
chore for him and if he could, he would be anywhere else than sitting in front
of hundreds of thousands of cheering people. It also appeared that he was
preoccupied and maybe even a little nervous.

Again, shifting the weapon, he took aim at the former police
chief. He was sitting alone, as was the current chief, in his open topped car.
It seemed that only the mayor had the privilege of having his wife accompany
him in the parade. The former chief looked far more comfortable with the
proceedings than his successor. He appeared how a police chief should
look--confident, authoritative, and relaxed.

He took a deep breath and retrained the telescopic sight of
the rifle onto the mayor. He could now hear the music of a marching band in the
distance, probably a few places behind the politician and further back in the
procession. He steadied himself and exhaled.

He had planned his escape earlier. By the time anyone
realized what had happened, he would be long gone. Even if the police were able
to work out where the kill shot had come from, he would already be half way to
Miami.

What a crowd, he thought, an amazing sight, and this was
just a small part of the parade route. Visitors just for the day, both locals
and tourists who just happened to have planned their vacation on Savannah’s
busiest day of the year. No matter, this would be one Saint Patrick’s Day none
of them would forget.

Once again, he scanned the crowd with the telescopic lens of
his rifle. He paused as he spotted a couple he estimated to be in their
fifties; the man was dressed in a blue business suit, not the popular green
that others wore, while the woman wore a blue, flowered-patterned dress. Moving
the sights once more, he rested his view on an older looking woman on the
opposite side of the street. She appeared to be alone, and unlike others in the
crowd, did not seem to be enjoying the parade. It seemed that she was scowling
at the procession as it passed by, seething with apparent anger. He couldn’t
help but notice that her anger seemed to be directed at the mayor’s vehicle.

Scanning the crowd one last time through the sights of his
weapon, he spotted a middle-aged couple holding hands. Both men were laughing
and dressed entirely in green, including matching green trousers. They appeared
to be enjoying the parade and it looked as though they were trying to get the
attention of the police chief as he drove by. The chief, however, continued to
seem uncomfortable with the proceedings and the attention he was receiving.

He rubbed his right eye, adjusted his baseball cap, and
tucked the butt of the rifle into his shoulder. Maybe he would grab a turkey
leg before he left the city, they smelled delicious. Finding his target, he
took a deep breath before he gently pressed on the trigger… and fired.

Award Winning Writer, Duncan Whitehead, was
born in England and is the author of the best-selling and award-winning
GORDONSTON LADIES DOG WALKING CLUB Trilogy. The series, inspired by the quirky
characters and eeriness in the real life Savannah neighborhood in which he once
lived is a humorous mystery, which boasts an assortment of characters and plot
twists.

He has also written over 2,000 spoof and comedy
news articles, under various aliases, for a variety of websites both in the US
and the UK.

He has written further novels; a comedy set in
Manhattan, THE RELUCTANT JESUS, published in April 2014 and republished in July
2015 & three short stories.

Duncan is well known for his charity work,
kindness to animals, children and old people; and, of course, his short-lived
bullfighting career and his hideous hunchback.

In February 2045, he invented time travel and
now spends much of his time in either the future (where he has won the lottery
an astonishing 117 times) and the present day.

Friday, April 29, 2016

The thrilling sequel to the bestselling and
award winning novel, The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club.

Four months after the disappearance of Tom Hudd
from a leafy Savannah neighborhood, the members of an afternoon cocktail and
dog walking club ponder his whereabouts; despite one of them knowing his true
fate. Recently elected mayor Elliot Miller has new agendas, and just where is
Doug Partridge?

An old man's death bed memories recall his
ultimate revenge, while Savannah Detective Jeff Morgan has been assigned to two
missing person's cases and a years old murder that he believes already solved.
Once again, though, a killer lurks and even more secrets unfold, as does
an ever expanding web of deceit and lies. Who will die and who will live to see
out the conclusion to a story of revenge, twists and murder?

As before, the plot thickens, and the residents
of Gordonston, all with deep hidden agendas, resume their plotting and desire
for revenge and retribution; twists and turns lead the reader once again to a
conclusion, and another sucker punch ending that will leave them breathless.

Extract

His body was much heavier than she
had anticipated. It had taken her twenty minutes to remove the sheet-wrapped
corpse from the trunk of her car and drag it from the street, through the gate
that led to the rear of her house and then along the path leading to her back
yard. She wiped her brow as trickles of sweat began to pour from her forehead.

She checked the time once more on
her watch; it was 4 am. It appeared that no one had seen her, but she had
remained vigilant, checking for the twitching of curtains, passing vehicles and
any early morning dog walkers or returning late night revelers – she was
satisfied that her nocturnal activities were not being watched. The last thing
she needed was a curious neighbor or passerby witnessing her dragging a
sheet-wrapped body from the rear of her new SUV. She paused for breath, sweat
now pouring from her brow, which she again wiped away, leaving a trail of dirt
across her forehead, dirt from the hole she had dug the previous evening in her
back yard. A hole that had taken her hours to dig and a hole that was soon to
become a grave.

It had taken her over three hours to
dig the grave, again while ensuring she was not seen, and she had had to
destroy many of the plants and flowers it had taken her years to grow, but it
was a necessary consequence of burying a body, and there was simply nowhere else
viable for such an endeavor. She sighed as she stared at the pile of disrupted
flowers and plants. Her butterfly weeds
and the hibiscus they’d planted when they had first moved into their home had
been totally destroyed.

She smiled to herself. He had hated
gardening. Detested it. She had lost count of the times they had argued and
fought over her flower garden and plants. He had wanted to grow vegetables, to
save money for one thing, but she saw no beauty in onions and potatoes. She had
allowed him to plant a tomato bush, which remained intact and undamaged by the
digging. Wherever he was, he would probably be laughing that her gardening
labor of love had had to make way for a grave. Ironic, she thought, replacing
the living for the dead.

Eventually, after what had seemed an
eternity, she stood over the hole; it looked deep enough; four feet deep had
been her aim. Though she wasn’t an expert, she estimated that her digging had
been sufficient. She stood about five feet and four inches tall, so she guessed
if she stood in the grave then she could estimate the depth. The last thing she
needed were wild animals digging up the body; the thought of a neighborhood
dog, or even cat, running around with bones in their mouths sent shivers down
her spine. She jumped into the hole and her head peered over the top. Yes, she
was confident it was deep enough.

The corpse, which was securely
wrapped in the bed sheet, lay at her feet. For a minute she just stared at it.
She had expected to feel more than she did, more grief, more sorrow, but the
truth was that she felt relieved more than anything. She was glad it was
eventually over. The hard part was done, mentally and emotionally anyway; the
physical hardships, compared to what she had done earlier that day, were easy.
She bent over, and placed a hand on the body. Despite her indifferent feelings
of grief, a solitary tear fell from her eye. Intermingled with her sweat and
the soil on her face, it formed a dark stain on the once pristine clean white
sheet.

She looked backwards, towards her
home. It was dark and silent, and the building’s sole occupant had been
sleeping for hours. She thought about praying but dismissed the idea as
pointless and hypocritical. She wasn’t even religious, and he certainly hadn’t
been. There was, though, one more thing she had to do. She entered the shed
that sat to the right of the destroyed plant bed and the freshly dug grave, and
retrieved the bag of lime salts that had sat there for weeks. She understood
that these lime salts would assist with the decomposition of the corpse and
help mask any smell produced as a result of the decomposition. He had told her
that.

“I guess I will miss you,” she
whispered. “I know she will miss you,” she added. She placed her hand on
the sheet, one final gesture of affection, though even that seemed forced and
contrived. Would she really miss him? She wasn’t even sure. One thing was sure,
her life would be easier without him.

With all the strength she could
muster she rolled the body into the hole and watched as it tumbled into its
final resting place. She sighed and took a deep breath. It was done. She lifted
the half full bag of lime salts and scattered the contents into the grave,
covering the sheeted corpse. Glancing to her left she picked up the same shovel
she had used earlier that evening to dig the grave and began filling in the
hole; shoveling the earth back to where it had come from. It was far easier,
she thought, filling a grave than digging one, something else he had been right
about. She paused for a moment. How many times had he done this? How many
graves had he dug? How many families grieved and mourned for loved ones, with
no knowledge where their bodies lay?

In the morning she would plant more
flowers and maybe even vegetables; to cover the grave and to help disguise the
unevenness of her disturbed garden. In a few weeks no one would ever even guess
her flowerbed had been disrupted and hidden below it, a dead body. Not that she
had many visitors anyway, and those she did have she doubted paid much attention
to her gardening efforts. He certainly hadn’t.

So it was done. He was gone. Their
lives would be so different now and she knew that she would miss him,
and the truth was, sadly, that she would be the only one to miss him,
and maybe even the only person to notice he was no longer around. Briefly, that
thought filled her with fleeting sadness, not for him, but for her, but,
as time wouldpass, he would become just a memory, and then she
would move on. Kids were like that. They had no real concept of death, not at
her age at least, there were more important things to think about, such as toys
and games.

Thirty minutes later the hole was
covered and filled. It had been a long and tiring night; in fact the whole day
had been tiring. She was exhausted. She could not recall the last time she had
felt so tired, so drained. She yearned for her bed, the bed she no longer
shared, and the sleep she so desperately needed.

Suddenly she heard a sound behind
her. She turned her head quickly and instinctively dropped the shovel. It was
the sliding door opening, the sliding door leading from the den to her back
yard.

“Honey, get back to bed. You
shouldn’t be wandering around,” said Veronica Partridge as she abandoned her
task, though sufficiently completed in any case.

“Mommy, I was having a bad dream,”
explained Katie Partridge turning back to enter the house as her mother
followed behind her.

“Well, mommy is here now, so we can
forget all about bad dreams. Where is bunny?”

Katie raised her left hand and
produced a small stuffed rabbit. “Here he is, mommy, I have him,” she replied.

“Well,” said Veronica Partridge, as
she collected her daughter in her arms, not caring about the dirt and sweat
that covered her body, “that’s all that matters.”

Katie Partridge giggled and lifted
her stuffed toy into the air, showing her mother that bunny was indeed safe in
her custody, then her face took a more serious look. “Mommy, I have a
question,” she said.

“Sure, honey, what is it?” replied
Veronica Partridge as she slid the back door shut, taking one last glance at
the recently dug grave.

“Where’s Daddy?”

BIO

Award Winning Writer, Duncan Whitehead, was
born in England and is the author of the best-selling and award-winning
GORDONSTON LADIES DOG WALKING CLUB Trilogy. The series, inspired by the quirky
characters and eeriness in the real life Savannah neighborhood in which he once
lived is a humorous mystery, which boasts an assortment of characters and plot
twists.

He has also written over 2,000 spoof and comedy
news articles, under various aliases, for a variety of websites both in the US
and the UK.

He has written further novels; a comedy set in
Manhattan, THE RELUCTANT JESUS, published in April 2014 and republished in July
2015 & three short stories.

Duncan is well known for his charity work,
kindness to animals, children and old people; and, of course, his short-lived
bullfighting career and his hideous hunchback.

In February 2045, he invented time travel and
now spends much of his time in either the future (where he has won the lottery
an astonishing 117 times) and the present day.

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Little
is what it seems to be in a leafy Savannah neighborhood as members of an
afternoon cocktail and dog walking club mourn a neighbor’s death. Jealousies
surface when friends vie for the widower running for mayor. An old woman with
an infamous uncle plots to avenge a wrong. Memories haunt a once successful
children’s writer. And a model has won the trip of a lifetime.

But a killer lurks and
secrets unfold, as does a web of deceit. Is anyone really who he or she seems
to be? A mysterious South American, a young Italian count, and a charitable
nephew add suspicion and intrigue, as do an enigmatic organization linked to
organized crime, a handsome firefighter, and three widows with hidden agendas.
What’s a retired accountant’s secret, and why did a former showgirl really have
plastic surgery?

The plot thickens, the
Georgia temperature rises, and someone is destined for an early unmarked grave.
The truth contorts to a climax that leaves readers breathless.

Review

Winner of the 2013 Reader's Favorite International Book Award and Gold Medalist
"A real page turner that is perfect for anyone who enjoys a story filled with secrets, mystery and devious characters. Even though I loved the ending I can only hope that Mr. Whitehead will continue this story with a sequel; after all there are three more jobs to be completed! On a scale of one to five I would give this book a six because it is just that good!" —Readers Favorite

"Doggone it, whodunnit? Readers of The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club will just have to read to the end of the novel to find out. The thriller was written by Duncan Whitehead, who seems to have more in common with Ian Fleming than his idol, Agatha Christie. —The Savannah Morning News

BIO

Award Winning Writer, Duncan Whitehead, was
born in England and is the author of the best-selling and award-winning
GORDONSTON LADIES DOG WALKING CLUB Trilogy. The series, inspired by the quirky
characters and eeriness in the real life Savannah neighborhood in which he once
lived is a humorous mystery, which boasts an assortment of characters and plot
twists.

He has also written over 2,000 spoof and comedy
news articles, under various aliases, for a variety of websites both in the US
and the UK.

He has written further novels; a comedy set in
Manhattan, THE RELUCTANT JESUS, published in April 2014 and republished in July
2015 & three short stories.

Duncan is well known for his charity work,
kindness to animals, children and old people; and, of course, his short-lived
bullfighting career and his hideous hunchback.

In February 2045, he invented time travel and
now spends much of his time in either the future (where he has won the lottery
an astonishing 117 times) and the present day.

Amanda Spencer has spent years searching for clues to her first husband's murder. Now, she is close, too close to let William VanHorn get in the way. He wants to claim her as his wife, but she doesn’t have time to satisfy the man's needs. She wants answers not sex.

Set on fire by Amanda, William won’t let the lady escape. If she wants answers, he'll get them. As head of the Dragon Center, he has connections and nothing will stop him from capturing her heart.

Black Dragon’s Moon

Dragon Center agent, Dee Butterfield, finally has the job she's always longed for. On her first assignment, her job is to protect sculptor, Scott VanHorn. His rich dragon blood tempts her into an affair that could not only jeopardize her career but possibly her life.

Determined to find out who killed his best friend, Scott poses as a struggling artist to help the Dragon Center investigate a corrupt art dealer. He has ulterior motives for requesting Dee as his protector, getting her in his bed not the least of them. However, Scott soon realizes his mistake.

When the mission becomes more dangerous than either of them anticipate, Scott's black dragon blood stirs to protect Dee while hers calls for retribution.

Black Dragon’s Heart

Devoted chemist, Sarah VanHorn, lives for her research but fantasizes about loving Jake Ramsey. Her two worlds collide when the dragon center agent arrives to rescue her from the company suspected of producing chemicals dangerous to those with dragon blood.

Sarah's not the only one with fantasies. Jake wants Sarah as his mate and he's waited years to claim her. Now, under his protective custody—not to mention the influence of Syndetic's sexual stimulant scenting the air—he can't resist the fiery temptation to finally make her his.

But when tragedy strikes and their dreams are threatened, will Sarah sacrifice her career, Jake, and possibly her life to discover the answers? And will Jake let her?

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